To Raise an Empire
@captaintreppenwitz
1815 was turning into a very good year for Gilbert. Napoleon Bonaparte had been defeated in June at Waterloo, and the unsteady tension that had blanketed Europe for over ten years was settling down - at least amongst each other.
Prussia had regained its independence in the meanwhile, and at Waterloo he had firmly reestablished himself as a major power.
It was September, and a formal alliance had been formed between Prussia, Austria, and Russia in Paris. Gilbert had attended, of course, and solidified a powerful union between the two other nations.
However, upon his return, Gilbert felt something was different. The moment he entered the borders of his own lands he felt like there was another nation already there. Usually he was able to tell right away whenever Austria, or Russia, or one of his many brothers, the other German nations, entered his lands, and if they had no business with him then he ignored it. But this was a different feeling.
For his entire travels, he felt like there was another nation in his lands, but he couldn’t figure out exactly who it was. It was driving him insane nearly, even as he entered Berlin and resumed his workload. He had asked right away - were any of his brothers seen or heard from? No. Did he have any guests? No. It wasn’t the fact that the feeling was there, almost constantly, but it was the fact that he couldn’t place who was setting it off. It was familiar, and yet, he could not place a name or a face. He always just knew whenever a friend or foe were in his lands, and yet, this nation (it had to be a nation, there was no other explanation) was completely anonymous. Someone from a far away land? A newly formed state? There was no way to know.
This feeling persisted for days. It was agonizing. Gilbert hated not knowing what was happening in his own country.
To distract himself, he’d go out into the outskirts of Berlin that was heavily forested and hunt to keep his mind off of things. The evenings were spent with music, the afternoons with work, and the mornings, he was off on his own. He’d leave traps and find footprints or traces of life, but he attributed those to other humans.
One morning, a week after his return to Berlin, Gilbert was hunting again. He was alone, not even his horse with him, crouched behind a dense bush with his rifle in hands, pointed into a clearing where a few bucks grazed. If he could get a few, it would be supper for the night.
Just as he centred himself and rested his finger on the trigger, the sound of movement nearby startled him, seeming so abrupt and loud in the near silence of the morning. Reflexively, Gilbert spun around, rifle still raised, and slowly rose to his feet. He heard the deer scatter off, but they could be traced later - something was very close.
“Who is there?” he called. If it was an animal, they would be frightened off. If it wasn’t - his finger was still on the trigger. They would not be moving for long.
